Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' II: Drowning
by endless-fever
Summary: Dan's attempt to repair his relationship with his father only manages to destroy his happiness.
1. Default Chapter

  
Title: Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' II: Drowning   
Author: Jadecow   
Email: nuttynutgirl@yahoo.com   
Summary: Dan makes a painful decision and has to deal with the aftermath.   
Rating: PG-13   
Spoilers: General storylines.   
Warnings: Oh, the angst! Mild violence and a few foul words thrown in for fun.   
Thank you: (In no particular order) Jenny, for beta reading this monster. Sarah, for being the first pair of eyes to read it and listening to me whine constantly about writing problems. Jay, for reading it even though he is one of those weird souls who have never watched Sports Night (is there a grievance hotline for that?). And Laura, for also listening to my whine about my writing problems. These are the people that helped me write this bad boy.   
Notes: The second in a series of fics. If you haven't read the first, you may be a little lost. You can find it at: http://fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=462510 or at my home page (http://jade.nothing-less.net). All said and done, the finished product is over 16,000 words, so we'll do this slowly to prevent flooding or exploding the head of my wonderful beta reader. 

~*~   
Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' II: Drowning   
Chapter 1   
By Jadecow   
~*~   
Life was good. I can honestly say after the end of August, I snapped out of my funk. I moved on as much as I ever really moved past Sam and the whole closet of skeletons. The show was rising in the ratings and, after I was back for a week, all the looks and questions stopped. In three months I had only gotten nervous twice, and both times it ended with simple nervousness and not nausea. Around me, everyone was happy too. The rising ratings and job security made us all calmer, happier people. My relationship with Rebecca was thriving. When I told Abby I was happy, she smiled back and actually believed me. 

And then I fucked it all up. A simple screwed isn't enough. I fucked it all up. I know I only have myself to blame, but that's not much of a consolation. In fact, that just made the misery worse. I guess I could blame the month of December. 

December was always a rocky month. It's too family orientated. You can't walk through the streets, turn on a television, or even the radio without being bombarded with the holidays. Which is wonderful if you can get yourself into the holiday spirit, of love, peace, and all that other propaganda the media shoves down your throat twenty four hours a day. Not so wonderful if you can't. 

It's silly, really, what actually pushed me from the normal December semi-depressed state to obsessed with a stupid idea. I watched a movie. I can't remember the title, but it's still on "Dan Rydell's List of Movies I Will Never Watch Again, Even At Gunpoint." I can't even remember where Rebecca was. I just know she wasn't there, watching this stupid inspirational Oprah book of the month type movie. 

The general gist was that this family made up after some past fight. A big fight, scattering the family members all across the country. Of course, it took two hours of almost getting back together and almost talking until they finally do. Great. Tearjerker for hormonally imbalanced women, maybe, but I thought it wasn't realistic. Maybe I'm a little cynical when it comes to family movies. 

Yet, that night, I lay in bed thinking about my own family. It's always fun to think about my family. What family I had was pathetic. One brother dead at sixteen. Another all the way across the country in California, who only calls me on about half the major holidays. And lets not forget my mother who denies reality by pretending my father actually cares about me. My father who on more then one occasion made it known that he wished I was the one who died. 

After that, it all went down hill. I cannot even put into words how much I hated myself for watching that damn movie. I realized that I needed family in my life. Everyone at Sports Night was a family for me, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't what I needed, what I had been needing all my life. 

After two days of agonizing over all this, I made a stupid decision. Somehow --maybe it was the forty-eight hours with no sleep-- I thought if I just went and confronted my father, we would work it out. It was stupid, it was beyond stupid. I was setting myself up for disappointment and part of me knew it, that dark part of me where Sam's memory lived. The part that thought I didn't deserve to be happy. 

I didn't tell anyone how I was spending my day off. I took a cab all the way out to New Haven because it seemed like a good idea. I could drive again, but I never bought another car. I just sat in the back seat of the cab and watched my hands shake. 

By the time I got there I wanted to turn around. All the courage I had worked up melted away when the cab pulled to a stop in front of my parents' house. A thousand memories, even a few pleasant ones, raced through my mind. I stood out in the cold watching my breath cloud in front of me until I realized that standing there wasn't going to accomplish anything. I climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell. 

I don't know if I was hoping, or expecting my mother to answer the door. Of course, it was my father who cracked open the door, standing there looking surprised to see me. Not a pleasantly surprised, mind you. 

"Danny." He said at last, as he opened the door and let me in. 

There was no offer of a handshake, no hug. I had decided on the ride over that I wasn't going to be the one to break first. I almost lost my resolve, but I forced myself not to. It was something I had to do. 

"You're mother's out. She's grocery shopping." 

I pulled off my hat and coat, hanging them on the hook behind the door, not enjoying the feeling of being home at all. I turned to face my father. 

"I'm actually here to see you." 

For a long time, he was silent. "You're growing out your hair." 

I nodded. "A little yeah." Before I really thought about it, I was showing him the scar from the accident. "It's kind of noticeable on television if my hair's not covering it." The hidden words: Don't think your advice had any affect on me. 

"What happened?" He threw the question over his shoulder as he led me into the den. 

"I, uh, got into a car accident." 

He stopped walking, halfway towards his chair. He didn't turn around; he didn't have to. I knew the question and I knew what his face looked like. "Were you--" 

"No, Dad, I wasn't drunk and I wasn't high." 

He just shrugged it off and sat down in the chair. I sat on the couch opposite him, but neither of us really looked at each other. It reminded me of the time that Dana and I were invited to Casey's house, right when the shit was hitting the fan between him and Lisa. We were acting like Dana and Lisa. Two people obviously weary of each other but stuck together at the same time. 

"But don't worry, I'm okay, thanks for asking." I said after the long silence. 

"You're always such a smart ass." 

"And you always didn't give a shit about me." The words were out before I had time to agonize over them. It was a half-second before he said anything when I made the decision. I was coming out of this with or without a father, but I wasn't going to back down. 

"You come into my home and disrespect me." 

"You've never once shown me anything to respect." 

Another two seconds where I had time to realize my heart was pounding away and watch my father's eyes pop out of his head. He shook his head and caught my eyes with his. "What the hell are you...?" 

He trailed off and I wasn't sure if he meant to ask me of I was on something or what was I doing. I didn't let the implications of the former bother me. I knew I couldn't. "I came here to talk to you." 

"You came here to disrespect me." 

"No. I came because I was hoping you could at least answer a question for me. Actually, it's a few questions." 

"Do we have to do this?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Because this…you, have been bothering me my entire adult life and I'm tried of pretending that it doesn't hurt. It's not fair to me." 

"You're not going to get all weepy are you?" 

"Just shut the hell up and let me speak!" I didn't realize I wanted to yell, or that I was going to yell until I did. If I knew him well enough, knew his bad moods anyway, I only had about five seconds before he blew. I talked fast. "I just want to know what it is in me that's not good enough for you. And don't even say a word about Sam. You've always hated me; before he died, you hated me. And I think I deserve to know why." 

No answer. 

"Fine. At least admit the truth. You hate me." 

No answer from that either. 

"You blame me for Sam's death." 

That at least got a nod. 

"And you wish it was me." 

Another nod, a little hesitant, but a nod all the same. 

I bit the inside of my lip until I could taste blood, refusing to let him get to me. When I could finally talk, my voice wasn't entirely steady. "Why?" 

He stood up. "I'm not doing this with you!" 

I stood up too. Until my second year in college, I was the one who had to look up to look him in the eye. It was disturbingly satisfying to be the one doing the looking down. "You are doing this! It's been thirteen years now, Dad. Thirteen years of knowing that you'd rather see me dead than look at me! Thirteen years!" 

"It was your own doing." 

"How is it my doing!?" 

"You're the one that turned him on to that shit! That stupid reckless behavior that he would have been too smart for otherwise." 

I shook my head at him. "Do you even know the first time Sam got high? It was the night Mom and Dave here away looking at schools and you had some stupid hissy fit over something Sam did. And we fought. Do you remember that?" I waited for a nod, but didn't get one. I could see it in his eyes, though. He remembered. "He was scared, Dad. He was terrified of you and he was so upset that he had gotten me hurt. That you hurt me instead of him….It calmed him down." I bit my lip again, trying to keep the tears out of my yes but almost failing. I kept talking to keep from crying. 

"You stupid, pathetic, son of a bitch. It's your fault as much as it is mine, if not more so because you were our father and if you weren't too wrapped up in your own fucking alcoholism, you would have noticed that your two sons were stoned out of their minds almost every night!" 

I'm not surprised by his next action, really. I was taken by surprise, but at the time I was still trying not to completely lose it. He hit me. Hard. Hard enough to knock me back onto the couch. A sixty three year old man laid me flat, or would have if I didn't land on the couch. I had to use every ounce of control I had left not to jump to my feet and hit back. When he spoke his voice was dangerously low. The one that had scared the crap out of me when I was a kid. 

"Get the hell out of my house you little bastard. I never want to see you again." He bent over me, close enough that our noses were almost touching. "You are not my son." 

I just nodded. I couldn't think of anything to say. I left without a word, almost forgetting my coat. I walked through the town, trying to figure out if I had expected it to go any better. I realized somewhere on the sixth block, that I hadn't expected, but I had hoped. In my heart I had known how it would go.   
~*~   
End of Chapter 1. 


	2. 

  
Notes and all that fun stuff in Chapter 1.   
~*~   
Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' II: Drowning   
Chapter 2   
By Jadecow   
~*~   
I don't know if I knew where I was walking, or if I did it automatically, but I wound up in front of a bar. It had gotten dark while I walked around. My eye had long since stopped throbbing and had gone numb. Then again, my entire body felt numb. Of course, I wasn't aware of it until the heat inside the bar made me feel again. 

When the next bad thing to happen happened, I was well on my way to being drunk. I had lost count of the shots I had. I was back to numb and it was a good numb. The alcohol stung my empty stomach, but that feeling was welcome as well. The bartender looked close to cutting me off, probably dismissing me as some stupid out of towner from the city who couldn't hold his liquor. 

Then Christine came in. I recognized her immediately. She still had her unique beauty and that contagious smile. Our eyes met from across the smoky room and she ran to me. Literately ran over and had me in a hug before I could process what was going on. She nearly knocked me off the stool. 

"Danny!" She said, pulling away. "Oh my God! What are you doing here?" 

"Visiting my parents...Kind of." 

She sat next to me and the bartender placed a drink in front of her without asking her order was. She sipped it, and indicated my empty glass. "Stopping for the night?" 

I shook my head, almost fell over, and grinned. "No, I'm not seeing enough of you yet." I cannot believe I let a line like that leave my mouth. 

She laughed and I realized she hadn't seen a day of pain in her life. "I watch you on TV, ya know." She said, indicating my empty class to the bartender. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah, of course. I mean, it's not every day that you see someone you've--" There was a smile on her face, and she didn't need to finish the line. "--ya know, on television. I've watched it ever since we got CSC out here." 

"Good." 

I took a sip of my drink, nearly choking when she put her hand on my thigh. I managed to keep all alcohol in my mouth and swallowed hastily. I looked at her; she shifted her hand just a little. Enough to let me know it wasn't an accident her hand wound up there. 

"Christine," I squeaked, surprised at how my tongue refused to cooperate. My half-empty glass slammed into the bar harder than I intended when I put it down. 

"Shh, Danny." 

I realized I was probably shouting, attracting more attention to us, and concentrated on lowering my voice. "I-I have a girlfriend." 

"Is it serious?" 

"Serious enough for me to be a little disturbed by your hand." Serious and disturbed are two very hard words to say when your tongue won't work. 

She grinned, moved her hand again and made me wonder about all the other people in the bar. She leaned in close, all her weight on her one hand while she whispered in my ear. "I should have never let you go, Danny. I'm in a relationship too. Don't let it matter tonight." 

"I-" The words died in my mouth when she blew in my ear. The bar swam in front of me; took two attempts for me to successfully grab my drink and finish it. 

"You hurt me, you know that? " She said, backing away, not moving her hand. 

"I'm sorry." I suddenly couldn't remember what I had done to her. I couldn't' remember if she was so prone to mood swings either. 

"You told me you'd come back here, but you never did. Not even for summer vacations or anything. You stayed away from this town like the plague. Why?" 

"Because my little brother is buried in it." 

That stopped the seduction momentarily. For a second she was the Christine I dated my senior year, the Christine who smiled and laughed and almost made me forget how screwed up every other aspect of my life was. The Christine who I told I would see again and then I didn't come home for more then a week, and then I was in Dallas. 

"I'm sorry, Danny." She sipped her drink. "I didn't even think about that." 

I just shrugged, wondering how sorry she was. Not sorry enough to remove her hand from my crotch, apparently. Again she leaned in close, a little more liquid courage in her. "Come home with me." 

"I have a girlfriend." I repeated, unsure who I was saying it to. 

"Come home with me and talk. Nothing more. I haven't seen you in years." 

"Will your hand stay where it is right now? Because it makes conversation a little hard." 

"Among other things." 

I stood up, almost falling over in the process. "I walked into that one, didn't I?" 

"You sure did." 

I followed after her, knowing that leaving with her was a mistake. Knowing that I was wrong, knowing that I was drunk and knowing that I was in enough pain to do something incredibly stupid. I should have gone straight home after the fight with my father. But I didn't. Instead I went to a bar, got falling over drunk and was seduced by a woman who I had once fucked in the back of a Honda after whispering that I loved her.   
~*~   
I felt like scum when I got back to New York. It didn't take much for me to forget about Rebecca and hop into Christine's bed. Not much at all. A few kisses and a few other gestures. And more alcohol. I took the train back, my head between my knees to keep from throwing up. The sun was rising when I got back to my apartment and I was feeling the physical after effects of consuming too much alcohol. At least that's what I told myself when I was kneeling on the bathroom floor, shaking. 

Sunday was a blur. I know I tried to sleep. I know I didn't eat anything, yet I still felt nauseous. Rebecca called and I told her I was sick. I managed to keep my voice even--I don't think she even suspected that I was holding back the truth. After I hung up, I called into work. Dana put up a fight for about three minutes until I managed to convince her I really was sick. I sighed as I put the receiver down and laid in bed the rest of the day. 

Actually, the entire month of December was a blur. I lied to everyone who asked about my bruised eye. At least it didn't swell. I made up a story about getting fouled in a basketball game at my gym Saturday morning. I knew no one fully believed me. Four weeks of completely lying to everyone I knew and cared about and I knew I was scaring them again. There were two giant elephants that I didn't want to think about but couldn't stop thinking about. 

Every time I managed not to think about her, I thought about my father. I felt a little better for actually saying what I wanted to say for years. I had to feel a little good about that. But most of the time, I didn't. I just felt crushed, because I knew there was no chance. I guess I had always prayed that there was. 

December is not the month to lose all hope in your family life. Or be hiding a huge secret from someone you love. I didn't want to hurt her. I was terrified to tell her. Terrified of how she would react. 

So I didn't tell anyone. I wanted to. I wanted someone to just ask me what the hell was wrong so I could tell them. But no one asked. I did my best to make sure nobody did. I hate when they all dote on poor, depressed Dan. So I bought gifts for everyone, did all that holiday crap with a fake smile on my face. And I tried not to be hurt that it worked so well. 

That's what it was always like for me, though. I want someone to just say 'Hey, are you all right?' but I don't want them to worry. And I don't want their constant attention. I hate it. So I pretend to be happy, or at the very least, not a second away from a nervous breakdown, and inside I get angry because they can't see through the fake smiles. Great way to live. 

It wasn't until two weeks into the New Year that Casey got suspicious. He'd ask me if I was okay every day, three times a day, and then he'd look at me oddly when he thought I wasn't looking. Of course, it took a phone call to get him to actually say something.   
~*~   
I was in editing. Every day that went by made it harder and harder to not just blab it all to someone, especially with Casey asking me every five minutes if I was all right. I was starting to believe that if I didn't say it out loud then it wasn't real. So I spent as much time as possible away from Casey. Of course, the man who I was hiding from was the one to come in. 

"Dan, your Mom's on the phone." 

I felt a tinge of worry. Usually if I'm not in the office no one goes to find me. He never searches me down, he just simply says I'm out and takes a message. "Is everything okay?" 

Casey shrugged. "She said she wanted to talk to you and isn't hanging up until you come...I think she's mad." 

I groaned as I followed after him. Mothers have that power, no matter what age their child is, to actually make them aware of their mistakes. I still had no idea what she was mad about. I called on Hanukah, hell, I even called on Thanksgiving and New Years. 

Casey didn't leave the room; he looked vaguely worried as well. 

"Hello?" 

"Daniel." 

One word and I knew it was big. You always know by the way your mother says your name. I sat down, trying to figure out what I had done. When she didn't say anything for a minute I was pretty sure that she believed whatever I had done was sending me straight to hell. 

"You were in town?" 

I closed my eyes. "Yeah, a couple weeks ago." 

"You didn't hang around to talk to me? I haven't seen you in six months. And you live an hour away." 

"I'm sorry...I was going to stay around but we had a fight and I couldn't stay there." 

"You and your father fought?" 

"Yeah." I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to dispel the headache that was rising up. 

"Why?" 

I looked at Casey, who was trying to pretend he was working. "You know why. I was just too mad to stick around and he was too mad for me to stay." 

"Fine. But that's not why I'm calling." 

"It's not?" 

"No. I was in the store and I met Mary Stewart. She told me something quite interesting." 

Mary was Christine's mother. I swallowed. "What?" I knew she knew I knew what just by the way my voice sounded. 

"That her daughter Christine is getting a divorce." 

I almost fell out of my chair. "What?" 

"She's married, Daniel. Do you know why they're getting a divorce?" 

"Irreconcilable differences?" There was definite hope in my voice that it was the reason. 

"Actually it was because Christine cheated on her husband. This is where it got really interesting in the store. You know, with this girl's mother standing in front of me. Apparently, my son, who I always thought had good morals, was the one to help break Christine's sacred vows." 

I couldn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. 

"I'm disappointed in you." 

I still couldn't say anything. 

"I thought you were dating Rebecca." 

Silence. She was waiting for an answer. I couldn't lie. "I am." 

"So you managed to cheat on your girlfriend and end a marriage in the same night." 

"I didn't know." 

"It doesn't matter. I felt like crying in that store, Danny. Do you understand what it feels like to raise someone and then have them disappoint you like that?" 

I heard it in the silence. I knew that she was thinking: "It's not the first time I've been disappointed in you." The first time my mother had ever really been hurt by my actions was when she found out it was me who started Sam on drugs. She had cried and told me she was disappointed in me. 

For a minute I felt like I was going to start crying right there, but then I was slamming the phone down. In the effort I managed to knock over the desk lamp, the phone, and the pencil holder. 

"What was that?" Casey asked, looking at the phone among the mess on the floor. 

"I...I have to get some air." I darted from the office before Casey could ask more questions. 

All I could think about was how both my parents officially hated me. I mean, they really hated me. Outside the building I mentally kicked myself for not grabbing my jacket, until I realized I liked the cold. It slapped me in the face but after a few seconds it faded away into numbness. 

I wasn't out there very long before Casey came out. He handed me my jacket. "Your lips are turning blue, man." He said. 

"I guess I should have said I wanted to get air alone." 

"No. We're done with this." 

"Done with what?" 

"You not talking about what's bothering you." 

I sighed and leaned back against the building, not putting on the coat. I just looked at him, feeling angrier then I should have. 

"I'm serious, Danny. I'm not going to let it go this time and watch you nearly kill yourself again." 

"Casey." 

"What?" 

"Shut up and leave me alone." 

"No." 

"Oh, you are such a pain in the ass, you know that!?" 

Casey stepped closer. "There is absolutely no reason to be yelling right now. I wouldn't bother you if I wasn't worried." 

For some reason, pissing Casey off was how I was going to make myself feel better. I knew talking would make it even worse. Talking would involve sharing everything I had been hiding. I wasn't prepared to do that. So instead I tried to hurt my best friend. Great logic. 

"You don't worry, Casey." 

"I don't worry?" 

"No, you don't. You have two emotions." 

"What're those, Danny?" 

"Numb and angry." 

"That's not true." 

"Yeah, it is. You push all emotion away the second something goes bad. You just sit there with a dear in the headlights look and screw up the show." 

"And you've been doing so great on the show for the past month." He spat out sarcastically. 

I didn't say anything, just glared. Not for the first time, I couldn't think of anything to say. 

"You've been gone for almost two months, but I let it go because I know how you feel when people push you. But five minutes ago, Danny, all the color drained from your face. And now I'm not going to let it go. What the hell has been going on?" 

"I'm not sharing my feelings so you can feel better about yourself, Casey. No, I'm not happy, but I'm not in any danger zones or whatever you think I am. I'm fine." 

"Yeah, you're the picture of sanity. It's below freezing with the wind chill and you're standing outside in a sweater." 

"Casey, butt out. I don't need help. If I wanted help, I would ask for it. So just go back upstairs." 

"You know what, Danny. I'm not playing the game this time. We're not going to go back and forth like this and wait until you crack. You try to take me down with you this time and I will never say another word to you again. Screw up your personal and professional life if you want, but leave me out of it." He turned to leave. 

"Yeah, like you would lose your job." I muttered it, knowing that it would get his attention, wanting his full attention. It worked, he spun and crossed the distance between us. 

"What?" 

"I said it's not like you would lose your job." 

"Why not?" 

"Because you're the one fucking the executive producer." It was mean, it was meant to hurt. Him, not me. But he had one arm across my chest, pinning against the wall before I finished the sentence. The last word ended in a puff of air. He had all his weight on my chest. 

"Danny, I swear to God if you ever mention Dana or my relationship with Dana in that way again I will kill you." 

I believed him. Stupidly, I nodded. He left without another word. After a few minutes of staring into space, I went inside myself.   
~*~   
End of Chapter 2. 


	3. 

  
Notes and all that fun stuff in Chapter 1.   
~*~   
Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' II: Drowning   
Chapter 3   
By Jadecow   
~*~   
When Dana found me, I was in the green room, typing my half of the script on the laptop. Casey hadn't been in the office when I got back, so I grabbed the computer and split. I didn't want to see him. I couldn't see him. I was already feeling horrible, something I had gotten used to feeling, when Dana slammed down the top of the laptop. I looked up in time to be slapped in the face. I just blinked. The woman packed a hell of a hit; I was glad she didn't decide to punch me. 

"Well." She said, typical Dana for 'I'm so pissed I can't speak right now.' 

"You talked to Casey." 

"Did you think he would keep that to himself?" 

I couldn't look her in the eyes. "Are you done? Can I get back to working?" 

"No. You do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. I'm your boss and that's how it works. I came to tell you a couple of things, so listen carefully. First: at work the relationship between Casey and I is just as professional as always. Which is not at all very professional, but neither is any relationship on this show. The fact that you would question my judgment as a producer because of my sex life hurts me, Danny." 

"That's not-" 

"Shut up! I'm not finished." 

She waited until I nodded. 

"I want to tell you something that Casey will probably be very upset with me for sharing, but I think maybe you need to hear it. Because you seem to be under the impression that Casey has no feelings." 

"That's not what I-" I got a little bit further with that before she stared me down and I shut up. 

"I don't care that's if that's what you meant or not. You still said it. And I don't fully understand what the hell is going on inside your head half the time, for that matter I'm not sure if you do, but I think you should know how Casey was a few months ago, after you had the car accident. After you two got back he came to my apparent. He was upset that you were so depressed, he cried, Danny. I swear to God, he cried. He cried because he actually likes you and he hates to see you in pain and he knows he really can't help. We all hate to see you sad. But here's the thing: You're out of line right now and as much as we all love you, Danny, there's a limit. You just hit Casey's limit. I'm letting you that you reached mine as well." 

She left before I could defend myself. Not that there was a defense.   
~*~   
The show was horrible. From a viewer's standpoint it was good, but the viewer wasn't there when the cameras weren't on. They were there for the silence between me and Casey, or all the other angry looks I it. Word travels fast around the studio. 

When I got home after slinking out as quickly as possible with as minimal interaction with everyone as possible, there was a message on my machine from Rebecca. She said she was calling to remind me that I didn't have to avoid her for the week --she had a conference in Boston to go to. I admit now that I actually felt glad. And then I felt guilty. 

I didn't sleep well that night. Or at all. I'm not sure if I was thinking or dreaming. I laid in bed until it was time to get ready for work and I went. I went in knowing that I had to focus. I couldn't turn to Casey for help, and I couldn't expect any understanding from Dana. I spent the day in the green room again, spending as little time as possible in the office. 

It was another haze. The entire week I found myself forgetting what I was doing, and trying to remember what it was I was talking about when I had to actually interact with people. I didn't eat. I couldn't sleep. Sometimes I found it hard to even breathe. I knew that I had hurt two people I cared about and I knew that there was nothing I could say to take it back. 

I was completely blacking out at points, I think. I'm lucky I didn't get myself killed walking to work. I would find myself inside the newsroom and not remember leaving my apartment. I'd be editing film and find myself trying to remember what the hell game I was doing. Run downs were hell. I'd sit there with my head down, pretending to read the sheet that could have been written in Greek for all I knew and digging my nails into my palm to keep myself aware. 

It was scary. I was scared, but knew it was my own doing. I didn't even have Rebecca to turn to. Even if she was home, I couldn't talk to her for more then a few minutes before feeling guilty and sick to my stomach. I drank a lot of coffee and tried to get myself to focus. Even worse was pretending to be able to do my job when my scripts where sub par. They looked like a three-year-old wrote them. I don't even want to think what my on air performance was like. All I knew about those was during the breaks I would bite the inside of my lip until I could taste blood so I didn't cry or scream.   
~*~   
When it all started ending, or beginning, I'm still not sure which, I was in editing, trying to focus on a hockey game I was cutting, and failing. The screen felt like it was moving, or the chair, or something, but I didn't feel very anchored to the ground. 

Jeremy walked in, holding a tape that had Casey's respectful 'edit this' scrawled on it. We made eye contact for a few seconds, a record for the week between anyone and me. 

"I didn't know anyone was using the machine." 

I shrugged and stood. I was going to tell him to take the machine, but I was on the ground. Jeremy was leaning over me, looking completely nervous. Then again, if Jeremy isn't nervous, I'd get nervous. 

"Are you all right?" He asked. 

I sat up, my head still swimming. Or the room. I closed my eyes. "I'm okay." 

"Who are you trying to convince?" 

I opened my eyes and smiled at him. The same smile I had been using for over a month. Forced, plastic smile that really didn't convince anyone. "You...I think." 

"I stand unconvinced." 

"I think that's two of us." I managed to get off the floor and sit on the couch. 

Jeremy sat in the chair, facing me. I knew he wanted to ask something, but being Jeremy, he didn't want to over step any bounds. I almost told him to just ask whatever the hell it was already when he did. 

"When was the last time you ate anything?" 

I shrugged, looking at the carpet between my feet. 

"How about sleeping?" 

"I think I slept last night." 

"You think?" 

"Yeah." 

"Is everything okay?" 

I was talking before I realized I wanted to. "Life is great. No one's talking to me because I said something mean and stupid for no reason about two people I care about. Both my parents officially hate me and I--" stopped at that last part, not wanting to admit what happened with Christine. 

"No one hates you." 

"Casey hasn't said two words to me that haven't been work related all week. And I really hurt Dana's feelings." 

"So apologize." 

"I can't." 

"Why not?" 

"Because maybe I deserve their anger. And I can't find the right words." 

"You're a writer." 

I laughed. It's not a good thing when the sound of your own laughter gives you the chills. "Ironic, isn't it?" 

"Not in an amusing way." 

I nodded my agreement, staring at the floor, at my slightly shaking hands, at anything other then Jeremy. 

"Look, there's a table full of food about twenty feet away. Do me a favor and eat something, because you're pretty hard to catch and I'd rather you not do that again." 

"You caught me?" 

He gave a half smile. "Not so much caught as broke your fall." 

"Thanks. I'm not so sure if anyone else would have made the effort." 

Jeremy sighed. "I think you're blowing it out of proportion." 

I shook my head, didn't like the mild dizziness that came with the motion. "They're pissed. And they don't seem to worried about breaking my fall." I blinked, a little surprised I said that last part, and realizing how painfully true it was. 

For a second he was silent, then: "At least try apologizing. It wasn't that mean of a thing to say." 

"You know what I said?" 

"Well, yeah. Natalie told me." 

"I didn't mean to say it. I mean, I don't think like that, but I was mad and...It's one of Dana's issues, ya know? Being in sports and being female and then I implied that her judgment." I trailed off with another sigh of frustration. 

I didn't fall down when I stood up the second time. I told him I was getting food, grabbed the laptop that I had all but claimed as my own, and left. Just looking at the pile of food on the craft service table made me want to throw up. The threat of repeating the performance in front of anyone else was the only thing that forced me to eat.   
~*~   
Isaac came up to me after the eight o'clock run down. I knew the conversation that was coming. I could see it in his eyes and in the way Jeremy wouldn't look at me. 

"Come with me." 

I did, walking more behind him than next to him. I noticed how much I was looking at my feet lately, I could navigate the newsroom without looking up. It felt like we got to Isaac's office too quickly. I didn't want to have the conversation I knew I was going to have with him. I sat in the chair and watched him take a seat on the edge of his desk before finding the carpet fascinating. I had become an expert on carpet. 

"Jeremy told me you fainted in the editing room an hour ago." 

I looked up and held Isaac's gaze for about half a second before looking out the window. I didn't say anything. 

"When did you last eat anything?" 

I still didn't say anything. I stared at the patch of sky between the buildings out the window. After a while I realized he was waiting for me to say something. I shrugged, not trusting myself to speak. I felt dangerously close to crying. I wanted Isaac to let it go, but I knew he wouldn't. 

"You look like you haven't slept in a week." 

I shrugged again. 

"Go home." 

That caused me to look at him. "What?" 

"Go home, take a week off. Sleep. Eat. Get your head together." 

"No. I don't need to go home." 

"Yes, you do. I've already called Peter." 

"I don't need to go home." I repeated. 

"I'm not asking, I'm telling. You're run down and you're putting yourself in danger." 

"I haven't been hungry." It sounded lame, but there was nothing else to really say. It wasn't like I wasn't aware of how I was acting, I just didn't know how to fix it. 

"I'm not just talking about not eating. Contract renewals start in six months. Do you want a screw up fresh in their minds when they're making a decision about keeping you on?" 

"A screw up like Draft Day." 

He nodded. 

I shook my head. "I don't need to go home. I'm okay." For the second time that day, I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince. 

"I don't believe that for a second." 

The sky was dark between the buildings. No stars. "It doesn't matter because I'm not leaving work because you think I'm too weak to be here." 

"I don't think you're weak at all. I do think you're going through something right now and that being here probably isn't helping your well being." 

"No, it's not. But that doesn't mean you can banish me from the studio until I'm okay." 

"You forget that it's my show and I call the shots. And I'm saying you're going to take a vacation for a week." 

"No." I felt myself getting angry, that odd angry where you want to cry rather then fight. 

"Here's the deal: either you take some time off or I suspend you. No matter what, you're not on air until next Friday." 

I stared at him. "You're serious." It was more of a question then a statement, but I knew the answer. 

He nodded. There was a long silence. "If you need someone to talk to, you know I'm here, right?" 

I kept looking at the dark patch of sky between the buildings. I wished there were some stars in the blackness. The city shines too bright and blocks out most other light. I wanted to ask how could he be there and push me away at the same time. I didn't say anything. He broke the silence. 

"Did you see last night's show?" 

"No." 

"Do you remember doing last night's show?" 

I noticed one of my sneakers was untied. Staring at that was easier then looking at the window. I couldn't see Isaac at all if I looked at my shoes. Again, I felt tears stinging my eyes for no good reason. I shrugged. There was more silence. I cleared my throat, forced myself to speak when I wasn't sure if I could breathe. 

"We're doing this too often. I can't keep running from work." 

"You can't keep going on air looking like you're a second away from screaming or completely cracking." 

"I'm not going to crack." 

"You are going to if you don't open up to someone." 

I sighed and stood up. "This isn't going anywhere, is it? No matter what I say, I'm still getting pushed away because I'm not smiling twenty four hours a day!" I realized that I was yelling. I never yell at Isaac. You don't yell at Isaac. 

"You're still going home because I can't have you here and passing out while you're supposed to be working. There is something wrong and being here isn't helping you. It hasn't been helping. I'm not going to let it go by without saying something any longer. If you want to talk, I'm here. If not, then go home and get yourself together. I'm not pushing you away because you're unhappy. I would never do that to anyone I consider a friend." He was talking with that no nonsense tone he usually reserves for when one of us gets on his last nerve, but his eyes weren't angry. 

I threw my hands up in frustration. "And yet you tell me to go home." 

I walked out before he said anything else. I didn't want to hear anything else. My jacket was in our office. I didn't want to get it, but I needed my wallet. I stopped outside the door, hearing Casey's voice. I only got the end of the conversation but it was enough. 

"...I don't care. I really don't. Because this isn't the first time, Jeremy. It's not even the second time. It's the third time. The third time he's been depressed and tried to drag me down with him. It's coming more often and it's coming too often. I don't need someone like that in my life." 

I managed not to look at either of them as I crossed the room, only looking up when I was putting on my jacket, even then only looking at Jeremy because that was easier. He looked guilty, but not enough. My voice was rough sounding. I sounded like I was --a second away from completely breaking down and crying. 

"Thanks for talking to Isaac, Jeremy. He threatened to suspend me if I don't take a week off. Great help." 

I didn't say any more, I couldn't say anything more. I left without a word to anyone, even Dana who followed after me asking where the hell I was going.   
~*~   
I don't know how I got home. I know all I was thinking was that I had no one. Isaac pushed me away, just like everyone else. I was trying to agree with his logic. I was trying as hard as I could to pretend that it didn't hurt. Just like it didn't hurt to hear Casey say he didn't want me in his life. 

It took me very long to process that I had walked in to my apartment without unlocking the door and ever longer to realize that I wasn't alone. Rebecca was sitting on the couch. I could have cried. I think I did groan out loud. I couldn't look at her. 

"You're back from Boston." I said, stating the obvious. I sat down on the couch, almost as far away as I could without being on the floor. 

"I'm sorry I let myself in. I called your office but Casey said you went home. I thought you'd beat me here." 

I didn't say anything. 

"Danny, look at me. It's important." 

I did as instructed. All my resolve crumbled and I knew I had to tell her. I didn't want to hurt her. I opened my mouth to speak, but she beat me to it. I wish she didn't. 

"I'm pregnant." 

I swear to God I heard my mind snap. Not for the first time that day I couldn't think of words. My body reacted quicker than my mind and I was in the bathroom before I realized I wasn't sitting on the couch. 

When I was finished I leaned back against the wall opposite the toilet with my head in my hands and trying to get my mind to work. When Rebecca touched my shoulder I literately jumped. She was crying. Everything inside me turned to ice when I realized I was the cause of her tears. 

"I-" I tried, but it was just a croak. I couldn't talk. Hell, I'm pretty sure I wasn't breathing. Despite the fact that I was trying to keep myself from completely falling apart, I had time to tell myself to stay away from bathrooms. I had a tendency to go into hysterics in them. 

"I'm sorry." She whispered. 

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and babbled. I knew couldn't keep it in any longer. I couldn't stand her crying because she thought it was her fault. Even if she hated me. 

"It's not that. I'm not upset that you're...I mean, I'm surprised. But I'm not upset. I'm not mad at you...It's...I did something stupid and you'll hate me when I tell you. But I can't not tell you." I took a deep breath, trying to get hold of the English language. "I cheated on you a few months ago...I was drunk and I was upset and I met this girl I used to know and it just got too far before I could even think." 

I closed my eyes and waited for something. Anything. Anger. I got nothing. I think I would have liked her shooting me in the head over the silence. Then I heard the door slam and I was alone.   
~*~   
End Chapter 3. 


	4. 

  
Notes and all that fun stuff in Chapter 1.   
~*~   
Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' II: Drowning   
Chapter 4   
By Jadecow   
~*~   


For a long time, I just sat on the floor. Every emotion I had been feeling in the past month --anger, sadness, fear, guilt, hatred, shame, emptiness, all those good healthy emotions-- fought to gain control. I didn't know if I had a right to cry or if I was getting what I deserved. I was alone and that was okay because I had hurt other people. 

Casey was right. Every time I felt bad about myself, I tried to drag him down. What kind of person treats a friend like that? After that insight came the one that I did exactly what I promised Rebecca I never would. I treated her like her son of a bitch ex-husband. And now there was something growing inside of her and that child would probably never know me because of a moment of weakness. 

I don't remember standing up. I don't remember looking into the mirror. And I really don't remember hitting it either. But I did. There was glass in the sink and my hand was bleeding. I completely shattered the mirror over the medicine cabinet. I reached inside, seeing but not feeling one of the pieces of glass that clung to the frame cut my arm. 

My conscious mind caught up to my subconscious mind when I read the label on the small bottle I pulled out. I felt both sick and almost excited at the prospect. End it all while no one cared anyway. End it before I managed to hurt someone else I loved. Casey, Dana, Rebecca, my mother?So many people hurt because of something I said or did. Not to mention the one I killed. 

The thought that had me opening the bottle and dumping the pills down the sink drain was that my father would be happy. For thirteen years my life --hell, maybe all of it-- was dedicated to making him happy, to trying to make him proud of me. That time of my life ended, and now all I wanted was to make sure he didn't dictate my life. So I dumped the pills and spiked the empty bottle off the sink. 

What followed was a slightly pathetic burst of anger that left most of my apartment in a mess. Lots of broken glass. I basically made sure I would never get my security deposit back. 

After that, I kind of loose track all together. I'm not sure if it's the fact that I drank enough rum to kill someone, luckily not myself, or if it was just one of those little breaks in my memory that come from being so completely low. Either way, the first thing I realized was that my stomach was very angry with me. 

I groaned and rolled over on my side, so glad to see there was a garbage can next to the edge of the bed to notice that it wasn't my bed I was laying in. The room was spinning. I put the intense headache, sore throat, swollen tongue, and the wonderful dry heaving together and came up with the fact that I had drank a lot of something the night before. Something alcoholic, definitely. 

I closed my eyes against the spinning and tried to remember what the hell I had drank, when I added another discomfort to the list: my bladder was on the verge of exploding. I really didn't want to stand up, almost as much as I didn't want to figure out why I had drank that much alcohol --the whole situation was blessedly out of my mind while I dealt with physical pain. 

No one's ever said I was the world's most perceptive person in the morning. And when I couldn't really see the walls straight, I didn't notice that they weren't my walls. In fact, I didn't even notice I wasn't in my bathroom until I was in middle of pissing, sitting down because I seriously doubted my aim when everything insisted on revolving around like it was. 

When it did register with my tired brain, I cursed out loud. I stood up from the toilet too quickly and actually would have fallen a lot harder if I hadn't caught myself partially on the shower curtain. It ripped under my weight and I managed by sheer luck to keep my head from slamming into the tub, instead, my chest hit it and I cursed even louder. 

The door to the bathroom slammed open and Casey stood there, looking at me with my pants half buttoned laying on his bathtub with the damn shower curtain ripped off its flimsy little rings. 

"You going to destroy my apartment too now?" 

My stomach twisted even more at the coldness in his words, the sheer anger behind them, and the total lack of concern for the fact that I just fell. I probably would have thrown up --again-- if the idea of moving at all didn't see so impossible. In fact, doing anything put keeping my eyes squeezed shut seemed impossible. Breathing, at least, I managed to do, even if my chest ached with every breath. 

"Stand up." Casey said. 

I started to shake my head but decided that wasn't the best thing in the world for me to do. "I don't think that's a good idea. I fell the last time I tried to stand up." 

"I see that." 

But he was pulling me to my feet and not really caring that my body was doing everything in its power to ensure I stayed on the ground. I had enough time to zipper my fly --didn't even get to that before I was falling-- before I was being dragged out of the room by him and back into the bedroom. He stood me in front of the full-length mirror --the one he swears came with the apartment. 

"Casey--" I wanted to tell him a lot of things, but the look he gave me made my stomach clench again, not in nausea, but in fear, because there was nothing but absolute rage in his eyes, and I couldn't remember what I was going to say. So instead I just stared at him. 

"Shut up!" He all but screamed it at me, then forced my head around to look at the mirror, literately grabbing my head and twisting it. "Shut up," He repeated, lower this time, in a normal speaking voice, even if his tone told me he wanted to kill me. "Shut up and listen to me, all right? Just listen because I'm only going through this once. Look at yourself." 

I started to turn to him, but his hand was on the back of my neck, like a vice. So I shot him as good of a death look as I could when the world wouldn't exactly hold still. 

"Look at yourself and tell me I don't have a right to be angry with you right now, Danny. You're a fuckin' mess. Every day you look like you're slipping further and further away, and all you do is shut yourself up behind walls. Every time I asked you what was wrong, you said nothing was wrong. But something's been wrong, again, and you won't tell me because it's just easier for you to hide whatever it is that's bothering you from the rest of the world so you don't have to deal with it! Every day you come in to work looking like you haven't slept, and I know you haven't been eating. And you know what? It's not even scary anymore, Danny, it's irritating. " 

He stopped talking and I was left with two feelings --anger and fear. Anger at him for thinking of me as a burden rather then a friend and fear because I knew every word that left his mouth was true. But fear leads to anger, as a wise green puppet once said, so it was all the same really, the only reaction that was going to come. "Damn, Casey, you should have become a motivational speaker." 

I guess anything I said back short of me breaking down and crying would have pissed him off even further, but I didn't expect him to hit me. Or maybe I wanted that. When I had woken up earlier, my screwed up version of reality didn't exist because all I could think was that my head hurt. Pain takes away reality, it takes away everything if you concentrate on it. Given the choice between choosing physical pain or emotional pain, I'd choose physical. So I hit back. 

It was quick, a fury of blows and curses and pure anger from the both of us, his justified more then mine. Maybe that's why his punches landed a hell of a lot more often then mine did. It ended when he made the mistake of hitting me in the stomach. Apparently Casey had never been told not to hit a man with a hangover in the gut. He learned, because I wound up dry heaving on his carpet. 

I felt nothing for a long time. Just physical pain and discomfort, but no emotion. Which is what I wanted. I was miserable, but being miserable because someone just beat the shit out of you is a hell of a lot better then being miserable because everyone in the known world hated your guts. 

I got mad. My mind had to pick one emotion, one feeling, because more then one made me feel like I was going to blow apart. So I got mad, and being mad was partially the reason why I was bleeding on the floor to begin with. 

"Danny." Casey said, and it was one of the few times in our relationship that I couldn't place the tone he used at all. 

"FUCK YOU!" I screamed so loud my voice cracked, and through nothing short of a miracle, I managed to get to my feet and towards the door. 

I focused on the door at the end of the hall and not the fact that it kept tilting and I was more bobbing then weaving. I was almost close enough to touch the door when Casey grabbed my arm. I tried to pull away and almost fell over, but he kept me on my feet, even if my arm was bruised the next day because he was holding me so tightly. 

"Your shoes!" He said, slamming them into my chest and letting my arm go. They fell on the floor and for the first time I realized I was barefoot. 

I picked them up and left with them in my hands. Casey didn't go after me, didn't say anything as I went out the door. I was in the stairwell, sitting on the stairs and putting on my shoes before I realized I had left my jacket there. The thought of going back inside his apartment made me feel both terrified and sick, and I'm not sure if I was afraid for my sanity or my physical well-being. 

It was raining out, just warm enough for it to not being snowing. Usually, I like the city in the rain --it brings something out of it that normally isn't there, what that something is I've never been able to figure out-- but it sucked when all I was wearing was a sweater and jeans. I didn't go home. I didn't turn around and go apologize to Casey (or anyone I had hurt, the list was running kind of long by then) until I was blue in the face. I just walked around. 

I guess it was only slightly less disturbing then the fit I had the night before. I just walked through the rain, aimless. Most people steered away from me, and it took me a very long time to realize why. There was blood on my shirt. I don't remember when I finally noticed the bandage around my left hand --Casey must have taken me to the hospital before I passed out in his bed. I do remember consciously steering myself away from that train of thought. Casey, Rebecca, Dana, my father, my mother, Isaac, and Sam (which really goes without saying), were off topics. Because when I started thinking about anything, it was very hard to force myself to look before crossing the street. 

Part of me wanted to go home and fall into my bed and just lay there until everyone stopped hating me, or until the bed opened up and swallowed me. I really didn't care which one happened. I just wanted to end the feeling I had then, feeling completely alone. It's such a cliché but it's so damn true, you can be in middle of a crowd, in middle of the scampering throng of people trying to get out of the rain, and be completely and utterly alone. 

I'm really not one to wallow in self-pity, I prefer the joys of self-deception and denial, but that's what it was. I was wallowing in self-hatred. If wallowing is the right word, I think it was more of drowning in everything. If I didn't feel so nauseous, or if the world wasn't still spinning around me, I probably would have ran. Because the only thing that was satisfying then was the feeling of my feet hinting the ground. 

The sun set and the rain changed gradually over to snow, but I just kept walking, my eyes down on the pavement for the majority of the time. Every once in a while I'd turn a corner, but other then that, it was simply walking straight a head. I had nowhere to go. I ran through the list of people I knew and came up empty. No one really wanted to see me, and I didn't blame them. 

I don't know how I came to the decision, but the second I did, it seemed like the right one. Thankfully, my wallet was still in my back pocket, and I hadn't lost the card. I found a pay phone, and had to squint at the card for a long time before I could make out the numbers --I was so happy that it was there still that I didn't notice the fact that holding up a business card in the rain tends to make the numbers run together. 

The phone rang two times before the receptionist picked up. "Abby Jacobs' office." 

"I need to talk to Abby." All the tears burning in my eyes were in my voice, I'm surprised the woman understood what I said at all. 

"She's in a session right now." 

"I don't ca-- I can't wait. I'm on a pay phone. Please." I sounded so pathetic, I guess the woman felt sorry for me. 

"One moment, I'll see if she'll take the call." 

I knew I should have said thanks, but I couldn't. 

There was a few seconds of painful silence, during which I told myself I should hang up because this wasn't fair to her, to throw it all at her because she was the only one who I could think of that didn't hate me. "Abby Jacobs." 

I closed my eyes and leaned against the side of the booth, relieved and scared at the same time. I didn't know what to say. "Abby?" I forced the word out, the only thing I could say. I wanted to hang up the phone. 

"Danny, what's wrong?" 

Hearing someone asking me that and actually meaning it made my jaw unclench. "I?" Too bad it didn't make my tongue work. "I've made such a mess. It's all fucked up." 

"Danny, where are you?" 

I laughed, and didn't care that the shiver it sent down my back made me visibly shake. "I don't know. I was just walking." 

"Come here, to my office, okay?" 

I nodded then laughed again because she couldn't see me nodding. "'kay." 

I hung up, but it was long time before I trusted myself to walk.   
~*~   



	5. 

  
Notes and all that fun stuff in Chapter 1.   
~*~   
Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' II: Drowning   
Chapter 5   
By Jadecow   
~*~   
By the time I got to her office, the receptionist was gone, it was nearing nine o'clock. The door to her office was open, and I stood there, dripping water onto the carpet. There was a few seconds until she looked up, in that time I thought I had time to back away and run, but I didn't. I felt glued to the floor and then she looked at me. She looked genuinely worried. It wasn't a look I was used to. 

I looked down at the carpet and at the puddle under my feet. She was across the room quickly, wrapping me up in the blanket she throws over the couch, rubbing my arms. I watched her rub my arms feeling oddly disconnected from my body, I couldn't feel it. 

"What--" She started, then stopped, trying to pick one question when my appearance alone was enough for like eight. "Did you get into a fight?" 

I nodded, slowly, remembering that I did. I had long since forgotten that I had left Casey's apartment with a fat lip and a bloody nose. I couldn't feel my face. She pulled me into the office and sat me down on the couch, sitting very close on the coffee table. 

"With who?" 

"Casey." 

"Why?" 

I shrugged and leaned back on the couch, closing my eyes. I just wanted to sleep. But she touched my hand and I jerked it back, surprised by the sudden bright sting of pain. 

"What happened to your hand?" 

I leaned back again, but kept my eyes open. "I hit a mirror." 

"Why?" 

"Everyone hates me." 

"Danny--" 

"It's true!" I shot to my feet, almost too fast, and walked a little distance away from her. "Everyone hates me." Like repeating it would get her to believe it. 

"I don't hate you." 

"Maybe you will after I tell you how much I've managed to fuck up my life." 

"I doubt that." 

I don't think I really heard her, because I was talking more to myself then her. "At least I can be proud I didn't do a half-assed job, right? I got my father to deck me, screwed around on Rebecca and ended the other woman's marriage in the same act, my mother thinks I'm going to hell, I managed to get Casey to hate me by insulting Dana with the only thing you never say about Dana, made Jeremy think I'm mentally unstable, screwed up enough at work that Isaac forced me into a vacation. Now, Rebecca's pregnant and Casey wants to kill me and I'm starting to think that it's not such a bad thing. I just want it all to stop and I want everyone to stop hating me because I really can't handle being like this for much longer or I'm going to totally loose my mind. I--" 

Abby was holding my arms again, standing very close and looking both concerned and calm at the same time. "Danny! Look at me." 

I did; it was hard to look her in the eyes. I couldn?t even remember when making eye contact with people wasn't so impossible. 

"Calm down or I can't understand you." 

I nodded, slowly again because my heart was pounding and I actually felt dizzy. I don't think I breathed at all during the rant. "I made such a mess. I did it and I can't fix it. I just want it to stop." 

"Sit down." 

I did as told, again, because I didn't have the energy to fight her. 

"Breathe." 

"I'm breathing." 

"No, you're freaking out and that's not going to solve anything." 

We just sat there in silence, nothing but the sound of me breathing. It was probably only a minute, but it felt like eternity. After a while, Abby seemed satisfied that I wasn't going to freak again, or in the very lest, she was assured that I would be breathing while freaking out. 

"Okay, now, start with the beginning." 

Part of me, the wiseass part of myself, answered first. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." 

She gave me the typical, unamused Abby look. I see that look a lot. Which is all right, because it wasn't all that funny. But there was also a little bit of relief in her eyes at that, like if I was making stupid jokes I really wasn't as close to a nervous breakdown as I looked or felt. "Danny, it's either keeping joking around and leave or let me help you. You can't do both." 

I think I spent too much time deciding which to do. I thought that I could still leave, but pretending wasn't possible anymore. All I had to go home to was a trashed apartment and about a dozen people hating me. I had the feeling that leaving the way I was would cross Abby of my shrinking list of friends. Hell, she was the last name on the list. So I talked.   
~*~   
I left her office well after midnight and went home, emotionally and physically exhausted. The only advice she had for me was fairly obvious: stop wallowing and start trying to fix things and pay more attention to my emotions and not spring to anger at the first chance. Stuff I should have been able to think of myself, if my mind wasn't running in circles trying to figure out a way to run. I left telling her I would make an appointment for later in the week. 

When I got home, I wanted to call someone on the list of people who hated me because I hurt them, but it was late. Just looking at my apartment made me tired and I realized I didn't have the energy, physical or emotional, to talk to anyone. So I just put on dry clothes and went to sleep, promising myself that I would call everyone the next day and straiten it out before it started festering. 

I woke up to someone pounding on the door. Not to a nightmare, but to someone actually waking me up. I thought that was a good sign and stumbled to the door, trying not to look around at my trashed apartment as I did so. It was Casey, holding my jacket in his hands, his face a mix of apprehension and anger. I didn't take my jacket when he offered it because my eyes were fixed on his face, the horrible purple bruise on his right cheekbone. 

"Here." He said, shoving the jacket at me like he did my shoes the day before. I took it, but couldn't hold on to it because my hands felt suddenly numb. 

"I'm so sorry." And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when I started to cry. If cry is a strong enough word. This was full blown sobbing, over a month of pent up depression and shame and anger and fear and self-loathing, all hitting me at once. 

I cursed myself out loud, feeling both embarrassed and annoyed at the spontaneous wigging out. Half my brain wasn't even awake and there I was crying. But it was the final straw, seeing that not for the first time in a year, I had hurt one of my best friends because he was worried. I knew I had hit him, Jesus, my hand hurt from doing it, but that didn't mean I understood exactly what I had done by punching him until the moment I looked at his face and saw the bruise. 

I made it over to the couch. I'm lucky I didn't simply collapse on the floor. I tried to stop crying, but I couldn't. The proverbial floodgates had been thrown open and I couldn't stop. I leaned forwards with my arms wrapped around my stomach and wished Casey wouldn't leave, because some part of me knew this was horribly embarrassing, even if he had seen me cry before. It was so pathetic. I made my bed, and now I was sobbing like a three year old because I had to lay in it. 

Casey came around the couch and sat next to me, not too close, probably afraid I would just haul off and hit him. Like I could have moved, let alone hit him. I thought I should say something, anything, but the only words that would leave my mouth were "I'm sorry." I kept repeating it, not even sure if I was only apologizing to him. 

I guess he got tired of it all, me sitting there rocking and crying and apologizing, saying it so many times that it all ran together and stopped making sense. He knelt in front of me, and put his hands on either side of my head. I looked him in the eyes for a split second and the word 'sorry' died halfway out of my mouth. His eyes weren't mad, only disturbed. 

"Danny, calm down." 

"I-I can't." 

My whole body was shaking, and I just wanted it to stop. There was only one other time in my life when I thought that the emotional pain sitting on my chest would never leave --the night Sam died. 

"Oh God, Casey..." I swallowed, a complete mess, shaking, crying, trying very hard to get either to stop. "I can't do this anymore." 

"Do what?" 

"Everything...I want it to fucking stop!" 

"Dan." 

"Please..." 

I looked at him, and for some odd reason remembered my twenty first birthday, or maybe it was a few days afterwards, I'm not sure. Either way I was legally drunk for one of the first times in my life and puking in the bathroom begging Casey to make the room stop spinning and the puking my guts out to stop. The look he gave me that night was the same one he gave me then, the one that says 'I sympathize with you, but there is nothing I can do to stop it.' Of course, there was also a slight insinuation of 'you did this to yourself, dumbass' on both occasions. 

"I can't do anything." Casey's reply brought me back to the present. 

I nodded at that, but thought of one thing. "Stop hating me." 

"I don't hate you." 

"Y-Yes you do. You hate me because I'm a fucking asshole. I don?t mean to be, I'm just...FUCK!" I tried digging the heals of my palms into my eyes, wincing when my left hand met my eye and not sure which was the one hurting. It didn't work, didn't stop the tears, the shaking, the feeling like I was the absolute worst person on the face of the planet. 

That was one feeling, one part of my mind. The other part was calming telling me to stop crying and acting like a moron (that was one of the nicer words). But that, for me at least, is how I am when I'm depressed. Part of me remembers how to be rational, when the rest of me, the dominant part, is just running around pretending to be rational...I know when I'm acting like a lunatic, hurting myself and the people around me. In the back of my mind I knew, but that part of my mind wasn't in control. If it was, then I wouldn't have been rocking on the couch trying to stop crying when all I wanted to do was just curl up into a ball and die. 

"Danny, stop." 

I looked at him. He looked terrified, I'm not sure if I said that last part out loud, the part about wanting to curl up and die, but he looked like he thought I was that far gone. Hell, maybe I was. 

"Stop, please. Calm down." 

He sounded desperate then, and on the verge of panicking. I laughed, which really went far to prove that I wasn't in middle of a nervous breakdown. 

"Dan?" 

But I was laughing and crying again, not for the first time at Casey's expense when he just didn't understand the workings of my mind. He looked ready to stand up and call for the men in white coats, so I tried to explain. Talking is very hard when you're hysterically laughing and crying at the same time. 

"You looked about ready to bitch-slap me again." 

For a full second, there was nothing on Casey's face, not even shock, it was like he couldn't pick an emotion. Then he grinned. He didn't look like the framed picture of mental sanity, either. "I thought you said that wasn't a bitch-slap." 

This time we were both laughing. It ended weirdly, probably when the absurdity of laughing hit us both. Sometime before we stopped laughing, I managed to stop crying. In the silence, I settled into the corner of the couch, pulling my knees up almost to my chest and let my eyes close. All the pain was still there, but it wasn't making breathing impossible any longer. 

It was a very long time before I could even look at Casey, let alone talk. When I did, my voice wasn't entirely my own. "I'm sorry." It seemed like the thing to say. 

"I think you may have already said that." Just a ghost of a smile, but a start. He had stopped looking so terrified. 

"I don't think I can say it enough." 

Casey shrugged, but didn't say anything. 

"I've been..." I couldn't think of a word, how to phrase it right. "This past year, I've been a real prick." 

"It hasn't been your best year, no." 

"I don't want to be." 

"I know." 

"But I can't stop. I see what I'm doing to people and I just can't stop myself." 

"What about what you're doing to yourself?" 

I didn't say anything, found the fabric of my sweat pants incredibly interesting. 

"Danny, do you even remember the other night?" 

I shook my head, afraid to speak. 

"You called me. And you were so drunk I couldn't understand what you were saying. All I got out was something about being unable to stand up and having to go to the hospital. God, Danny, when I got here I saw the mess...I found you and you were bleeding and it was dark in here..." He trailed off, and I know very well what he had thought. 

"I'm sorry I--" 

"Stop saying that!" 

I blinked at the sudden snap, but pushed on anyway. "--put you through that." 

He sighed. "That's not the point. I never thought you were capable of doing something like that until this past week. You haven't been here, man. You haven't been here for a long time." 

"I know." I could tell a simple 'I know' wasn't enough for him. He wanted, maybe even deserved to know why. "It's just easier that way." 

"Walking around like a zombie is easier?" 

"It was when the truth hurts more the hitting things." 

"What's been going on? You've been out of it for over a month. What happened?" 

I sighed, and decided that it was time to tell him everything, even if I didn't want to say any of it out loud. "I went home and I tried to talk to my father." 

"Wha--When?" 

It felt like three years ago. "The second week in December." 

The look in his eyes changed, I couldn't figure out what emotion it was. Probably pity, or anger, or some weird hybrid of the two. "Is that how you--" 

"Yeah, it wasn't a basketball accident." 

"I'm sorry." 

I shrugged. "At least I know how he feels, right?" 

"Doesn't seem to be a good thing to know." 

"I've know it for a long time, I just didn't want to admit it...But that's not even the worst part." 

"What's the worst part?" He sounded like he both wanted to know and didn't want to know at the same time. 

"I cheated on Rebecca the same night...I was walking around and I wound up meeting someone I dated in high school. By the time we were at her house, I was too drunk to realize she was married." 

Casey didn't say anything. He didn't have to. 

"I know." I said to the silence. "I just...It was stupid. I did what I told her I never would and now she's--" I stopped. The rest sat there on my chest and I found it very hard to breathe. 

"What?" 

"She's pregnant, Casey." My voice cracked. 

"When did she tell you?" 

"The other night. After Isaac sent me home, she was waiting for me." 

"What did you say?" 

I laughed. "I threw up. Great reaction, right? It was too much. And then I told her about cheating on her..." 

"What happened?" 

"She left. Didn't say a word to me." 

"What are you going to do?" 

I shrugged. More silence that left me feeling like I had to talk more. I said the only thing that I could think to say, because it bared repeating so many times. "I'm so sorry for saying that about you and Dana. And I'm sorry I keep doing this to you. I heard what you said to Jeremy on Friday and--" 

"Danny." 

He waited until I was looking at him to keep talking. 

"I didn't mean that. If I had meant it I wouldn't have came over when you called me." 

"Or you wanted to beat the shit out of me in the morning." 

Casey closed his eyes, his turn to be uncomfortable and analyze his feelings. "I'm sorry about that." 

"I hit back." 

"Barley." 

"I think I was still drunk." 

"And severely hung over...I was mad at you. I came over and I thought you slit your damn wrists. You were so incredibly drunk, Danny, that it took three cabs to get to the emergency room because you kept throwing up in them. After the hospital, I couldn't let you come home because of this mess, so I had to take you to my place. And you refused to talk to me. You wouldn?t talk, you just kept telling me to leave you alone and to let you go home, and then you passed out in my bed. So I was pretty damn mad by the time you woke up, and I was tried. I'm tired of seeing you like this, and I'm tried of you not wanting help." 

"So you thought punching me in the head would work." Wow, there was a lot of anger in that statement. I think it even surprised myself with that. 

"No, that kind of just happened." 

"I provoke that reaction in a lot of people lately." 

More silence, I looked at the digital display on the VCR and saw how late it was. "Shouldn't you be at work?" 

Casey shrugged. "I can be late." 

"Thank you. Seriously...You didn't have to come here." 

He shook his head. "I did." 

I smiled, the first real smile since December. 


	6. 

  
Notes and all that fun stuff in Chapter 1.   
~*~   
Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' II: Drowning   
Chapter 6   
By Jadecow   
~*~   
During my five days off, I was a good boy and did everything that I was expected to do. I cleaned up the mess I made --I still can't figure out why none of my neighbors called the police after all the noise I was making. I called Dana and apologized to her, and she accepted without a hesitation. I even went to see Abby once more. 

The only thing I didn't do was call Rebecca. I couldn't. I'd pick up the phone and start dialing before I realized I didn't know what to say, if there was even anything to say. I think the most numbers I dialed before chickening out was four. 

I was more then willing to go back to work on Friday, hell I had been ready to go Sunday, but I knew better then to push Isaac into letting me back. That's not so say I was better, I wasn't by a long shot, but I could at least function. That was a step up from the previous week. 

The show wasn't even that bad. I managed to write better then I had in a while, and even managed to not look like a disciple of Ben Stein. It wasn't the best, but it felt pretty damn good to prove to myself and everyone else that I could still do it. Sitting through makeup and listening to them complain was a little annoying, but between me and Casey it was extra work they didn't need. 

I don't remember what I was saying to Casey as we walked into our office after the show, only that the words died halfway out. Casey, too, was a little surprised to see Rebecca standing there. 

"I'm gonna go...some place else." 

Any other day I would have laughed at the complete lack of ingenuity behind that statement, or even at the way Casey all but ran out of the office, but I couldn't laugh. I couldn't even get my mouth to move at all, or my legs. So I just stood there, across the room from her, my hands in my pockets so I could tell myself they weren't shaking, and looked at her, or, more accurately, the floor by her feet. 

The silence was so heavy that it hurt to breathe. I had been avoiding it. I didn't want her to say all the things she had a right to say. She wouldn't call me half the names I was calling myself, but I was dreading hearing them from her mouth. 

"Dan." 

I looked up at that, looked into her eyes and saw how tired she looked, before I had to look away because of the pain in them. The pain I caused. "Yeah?" 

"I didn't want to do this over the phone." 

That, or she wanted me near so she could castrate me. "Okay." 

"I need you to tell me why." 

I looked up for another half second, then decided I really liked the view out our office window. "Why?" I repeated, not sure what she meant, or stalling. I'm not sure what I was doing. 

"Why is it that you and every other man in creation think it's okay to sleep around on me?" 

Shit. I closed my eyes. "I...I wasn't thinking." 

"You were thinking with the wrong organ." 

I'll admit that it wasn't the first time I was ever accused of doing that. I just never felt as ashamed of myself as I did then. "I was upset." 

"That's not good enough either." 

"And really drunk." 

"Not so drunk that you couldn't have sex." 

"Instinct." I blurted the word out so quickly that I didn't even think about it. She just stared at me. 

"Instinct?" 

I nodded. "Some things you can do drunk." I shrugged, realized how stupid I sounded, but talked away, anything to avoid explaining, or her walking out of the room. "Natural instinct and all." 

"Natural instinct. You used and condom, didn't you?" 

I knew what she meant not too natural if you wanted to stop the whole reason my men and women have sex in the first place --advancement of the species. "Yeah...Natural instinct to avoid paternity suits." It sounded better in my head. Actually, that's a lie. It wasn't in my head at all, it was just out my mouth leaving the all too familiar taste of shoe leather in its place. 

She started towards the door. "I'm leaving." 

I managed to break my paralysis and block the exit. "Give me another chance." I saw the look in her eyes. "At explaining. Then you can storm out and burn all the pictures you have of me." 

That almost earned a smile, but instead she folded her arms across her chest and looked at me. I had too look away, at the floor, because there wasn't any love in her eyes. I braced myself against the door and let out a deep breath. 

"I...I was..." I resisted the urge to slam my head back against the door and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"No matter how many times you say you're sorry, Danny, you still did it." 

"I know. I just?It's not you. I was upset." 

"Why?" 

"Why was I upset?" Stalling stalling stalling. 

"Yeah." 

Another deep breath before I talked, opting for the truth, if a condensed version of it. "I went home to talk to my father and it didn't go very well. I, um, don't think my father and I will ever speak to each other again. I was just walking around town, looking for a payphone to call a cab and I wound up at this bar. I was really, really drunk by the time this girl I dated in high school came in. And it just happened. I didn't want to hurt you. I wasn't even thinking about you." 

"That's supposed to make me feel better? You weren't thinking about me, so that makes it all okay!" 

She was about a second away from yelling and I didn't need to look behind me to know that the newsroom was full of people. I didn't want to make a scene, didn't want everyone behind me to know that I had fucked the best relationship of my life up. I closed my eyes, and wished I was somewhere eyes where she didn't hate me and everyone else wasn't walking on egg shells because they thought I was still a second away from cracking. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant that it wasn't to hurt you...She was there, and I just wanted to feel something other then pain." I opened my eyes at that because it was the complete truth. I may not have realized it until then, but it was. "God, I'm so sorry." 

She just nodded, but didn't say anything. 

"It had nothing to do with you. Nothing. If I had been really thinking about you, I wouldn't have done it. I don't like seeing you hurt." 

More silence, I couldn't even look at her feet. Dinner was a painful knot in my stomach, but thankfully staying where it belonged. It just hurt. I don't even know what hurt more, my stomach or the silence in the room. 

"I know you've heard it all before, but I really mean it. I didn't want it to happen, it just did and I was too weak to stop it." 

"I have heard all this before." 

I had nothing else to say. There was nothing to say. I made a stupid mistake, an unforgivable one, and she hated me for it. Everything else started coming back then, all the self-hatred, all coming back because I had only been fooling myself by saying it was gone. 

"Danny, look at me." 

I did, because she could have told me to walk through fire right then and I would have. Anything to get her to stop being mad. 

"I've heard it all before, from Steve, from a lot of guys, but they never cried while apologizing." 

I reflexively wiped my eyes, surprised. I didn't even know I was crying. That says a lot about mental stability. At least I wasn't sobbing like a baby again. 

"What happened to your hand?" 

"What?" I had no idea what she was talking about. 

"Your hand." 

She grabbed my left hand, wrapped in a flesh colored bandage that everyone insisted I use to keep down the glare from the studio lights. 

"Oh, that." I really didn't want to tell her. 

"Yeah, what happened?" 

"I, uh, don't have a bathroom mirror anymore." 

She nodded, understanding. "Why?" 

"Because I..." I lost the words and knew she knew what I meant anyway. I was mad at myself. 

"I shouldn't have just walked out." 

"No, you should've kicked my ass." 

"I wanted to." 

"Thank you for not." 

"You did a good enough job yourself." 

I looked at the floor, more silence, more fear and a whole lot more shame. "I'm so sorry, Rebecca, really." 

"I know." 

I looked her in the eyes and found that it wasn't so hard after all. I was glad for the door behind me because the relief that went through me almost made my legs week. I had a feeling that things weren't over. Not the same, but not finished. 

"Where do we stand?" I asked slowly, terrified of the answer, but couldn't handle not knowing a second longer. 

The silence that met my question made me really wish I hadn't asked. The ball was entirely in her court, that wasn't to say I wouldn't pester her after that night if she said it was over, or, in the very least, apologize until I turned blue. 

"Not in the same place as before." 

I nodded, not sure what else to say. 

"And I want you to remember that I won't forget this." 

"Okay..." That seemed fair enough. I wasn't sure if I ever would. 

There was more silence and another subject hung in it. I didn't want to ask, I really didn't. I decided right then that it was her decision and I'd support her. To ask, though, that would be just wrong. How do you even ask a question like that? 

"I'm keeping the baby, Danny, with or without your support." 

For a moment I thought I had spoken out loud. I didn't, she just knew what was on my mind. I looked her in the eyes, to make sure she understood fully what I was about to say. "I would never ask you to do that. Never." 

She nodded, looking away. "I know, but..." 

"You still had to say it. I understand." 

I was hugging her before I realized that my privileges to do so probably were revoked. She didn't push me away. When I finally did back away, just enough to look at her face and not let go of her, she was smiling too. I wanted to kiss her, but I was afraid to push any further. I let my forehead touch hers and closed my eyes, so glad that she let me put my arms around her. 

"I've been a complete jackass the past few months." 

"You have." 

"I don?t want to be like that anymore. I just don?t know how to change." 

"You want to, and that's a start, right?" 

I smiled. "Yeah." 

I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to tell her how scared I was, how much it hurt to have my father admit his true feelings towards me, how pushing her away just made it easier at the time but the only thing I needed was to hold her. As corny and cliché as it is, that was the truth. 

I didn't say any of it, couldn't say any of it. Instead, I kissed her, forgetting the fact that the door was glass and not really caring who saw anyway. It felt right, and that was what mattered. Again, when I pulled away, it was just far enough to see into her eyes. 

"I--" 

"--If you say I'm sorry again, Danny, I swear to God, I'm just gonna grab, twist, and pull." 

Whoever came up with that method of self-defense should have consulted all the boyfriends of the world before teaching it to women. "I was going to say I love you." 

That got a big smile, and thankfully nothing was grabbed, twisted, or pulled. Then again, seeing her smile would probably be worth having all three things done. Repeatedly. 

"Come home with me." I wasn't sure if that was an invitation or a command. 

"You sure?" 

"Yes." 

I couldn't stop smiling as we walked out of the office together.   
~*~   
The End. 


End file.
